


Perish Twice

by SicLuceatLux



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel & Vessel Interactions, Angelic Grace, Archangel Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Grace Kink, Grace-Powered Orgasms, Hurt Lucifer (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Going to Hell, Lucifer's Fall, M/M, Manipulation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Lucifer (Supernatural), POV Sam Winchester, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rating: NC17, Sam Winchester Has Issues, Sam Winchester is Called Samael, Tags Are Fun, The Author Regrets Nothing, There's A Tag For That, True Vessels, Vessel Consent Issues, Vessel Nick (Supernatural), Wing Kink, Winged Lucifer (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-04-26 17:12:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14406702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SicLuceatLux/pseuds/SicLuceatLux
Summary: The Devil runs cold, and craves warmth.Sam Winchester runs hot, and craves peace





	1. Perish Twice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyeternal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyeternal/gifts).



> \- This series was written in the summer of 2010; originally published on LJ from June-September  
> \- The title comes from a Robert Frost poem called "Fire and Ice", which is quoted in its entirety below (all titles in this series' chapters are sourced from the same poem).  
> \- In this piece, I make reference to Samael as Lucifer's former name.  
> Samael is simultaneously one of the most gloriously good and reprehensibly evil figures in Jewish mysticism/mythology. Until the advent of Christian theology, Samael was seen as one of the greatest angels in heaven; it was only during/after the time of the New Testament that he adopted the visage of the evil, fallen adversary, the "twelve-winged serpent" in the Book of Revelations. Samael and the Christian Satan (who is commonly called Lucifer by mistake) are widely considered to be one and the same; this angel also goes by the name Azmodeus. /end angel-nerding  
> \- this was my first fic written for a pairing other than Dean/Castiel.  
> \- The vessel consent trope can lead to some strange and terrible places when it comes to this pairing. I did not set out to subvert or defy, merely to see where the characters led me; what I found beneath the surface of their interactions.   
> Sam's name isn't "Samael" because he's the Devil or doomed or says "yes" automatically in this work, but because in angelic nomenclature, "Sam" means "poison", and it's an apt reflection of the younger Winchester's self-image, identity, + history.

**Disclaimer** : Supernatural and all characters therein are the property of Eric Kripke and the WB/CW, I'm just borrowing them for my own nefarious purposes.  


[ ](http://s3.photobucket.com/albums/y67/doomchan/?action=view&current=sp-perishtwice1.png)

_some say the world will end in fire_  
_some say in ice_  
_from what I've tasted of desire_  
_I hold with those who favor fire_

__but if it had to perish twice  
I think I know enough of hate  
to say that for destruction ice   
_is also great, and would suffice_

_The Devil ran cold._  
It wasn't the familiar, gentle-sharp cold of October frost or falling snow. This was a brand of cold that sucked every bit of warmth out of its surroundings, cutting straight through to the bone; a cold like the deepest layer of Dante's Hell.

Underneath his calm facade, Lucifer was freezing inside the imperfect vessel that couldn't hope to insulate him. He could feel the cracks in the body that housed him growing by the day, letting in air that rushed straight to the void inside him where God used to be. The sensation didn't bother him as much as it could have, since he still had grace to shield him from the worst of it, but the Morningstar craved warmth, hungering for it like a man on the brink of starvation. 

Sam Winchester radiated heat and power like a furnace.  
His soul burned almost as brightly as his brother's. The surface was tarnished - Lucifer preferred to think of it as "webbed" - with a network of fine black lines, but the core flared pure and strong as a newborn star. It was one of the most beautiful things Lucifer had ever seen.  
Simply being in the same room with Sam made the edges of his grace glow orange, suffusing his being with intense, joyous light; a feeling second only to standing in the presence of the divine Father himself. 

Sam was marked, hidden away behind scratches on the bones wrapping around his heart put there by an angel -- a young one, little more than a child by Lucifer's standards -- who knew much less than he thought he did. If Sam thought about Lucifer and focused with enough intensity the fallen archangel could hear him. Find him.  
and for the last month, Sam had unwittingly called to him every night. 

Sam didn't think the figure appearing to him in his dreams was real, but he wasn't about to take any chances. If left to himself, he'd more than likely fuck everything up and lead the world further down the path to destruction in his _goddamn sleep_. 

At first, the Devil tried to persuade Sam to consent to being his vessel, but when Sam only responded by ignoring him, Lucifer stopped speaking. For entire nights, they would stand in a nondescript room somewhere in Sam's subconscious; Sam acutely aware of Lucifer's presence, but unwilling to so much as meet his eyes, Lucifer gazing at him but never uttering a word. 

When it became apparent that Sam wasn't going to break the silence anytime soon, Lucifer switched to a different tactic. The cold seeping in through the chinks in his flesh-shell was starting to cut a little too deep; Lucifer wanted more of Sam, and he was tired of taking his time. 

The first time Lucifer touched him, Sam recoiled, but didn't pull away. Where an average man would have felt a stab of agony as the temperature of his skin plummeted, Sam felt the pressure of cool fingertips against the fabric covering his chest, uncomfortable only because of the entity they belonged to. 

Blissful, blessed fire curled through Lucifer's fingers, bathing him in sublime warmth. He could feel it creeping along his grace, rekindling the fire in his soul; it was pure ecstasy. Lucifer reluctantly pulled his fingers away, then touched the same spot again, marveling at the fact that Sam's skin hadn't cooled at all. 

Suddenly, the tranquil warmth was interrupted by a sharp, raw pain akin to the slice of a razor into his vessel's fingertip. Lucifer hissed slightly, extending his grace around the vicious tendrils choking the flow of Sam's soul into his.  
They were made of pure self-loathing and guilt, layered in piles of festering knots beneath that smooth coat of skin. Hatred -- of himself, of Ruby, of the fact that he was so low, had fallen so far that he was worthless for everything but housing mankind's greatest enemy, of every aspect of his life save for his brother and the young angel who followed them -- was flaying Sam from the inside out, all the power in that splendid soul concentrated on ripping itself apart. 

Sam could practically feel Lucifer's eyes burning into him; he raised his head to meet them and, much to his surprise, found concern there. 

_Sam._

Lucifer reached out to Sam, brushing his hand along the planes of Sam's cheekbones. Sam flinched slightly as the archangel's fingers swept over the contours of his face, but he didn't reject the contact, standing his ground as Lucifer closed the distance between them. 

Sam had read every book about the Devil he could get his hands on; he was prepared for his tricks, for his lies, for the powers of persuasion he was so famous for, but nothing in any of those pages could have prepared Sam for _him_.  
Lucifer smelled like cold, fresh rain and the metallic tang of a summer storm; and where his bare arms brushed against Sam's, he felt like iron wrapped in velvet.  
Where Lucifer's fingers met his skin, Sam could feel a bright hum of energy in Lucifer's touch that lingered for seconds after his caresses had traveled elsewhere; echoes of the glory bestowed upon the Morningstar by his Creator that would remain his no matter how far he fell.  
The cumulative effect was a delicately overwhelming force of nature that was every bit as irresistable as gravity. 

When he kissed Sam, Lucifer's mouth was gentle to the point of tenderness, as though this immeasurably powerful being was asking permission for something he could have taken effortlessly. In that moment, they ceased to be a fallen archangel and a demon-tainted human and were simply two bodies coming together as naturally as breathing. As he relaxed his lips, allowing the Devil to part them with his tongue, Sam heard the rich, soft sound of Lucifer's voice inside his head.  
_As my vessel, you are far from worthless, the last thing in the universe from low. You were created to house the most beautiful of all God's creations, the one more dear to him than any other. This has been your destiny since God first conceived the idea of humanity, when my name was Samael and I didn't know the meaning of rebellion._

Lucifer broke away, cupping Sam's face and looking him straight in the eyes as he repeated the promise he'd offered more times than Sam could count. 

_I will never hurt you. I will never lie to you. I will never ask you to be anything other than exactly what you are. Let the pain go, lovely creature, my Sam; welcome your fate, and with it, the love and grace of an archangel._

Lucifer rekindled their kiss with deep, greedy strokes of his tongue as he sought more of the heat that warmed him to the deepest reaches of his grace, filling the emptiness within him.

_Do you want me, Sam?_

Sam froze, body tensing in Lucifer's arms.  
The archangel bent his head to trail muted red bite-marks along Sam's neck and jaw, coaxing breathy groans from the man's throat. 

The devil spoke, voice harsh and rough in Sam's ears as his lips moved against the sensitive shell.  
"Do you want me, Sam? Say yes and I'll give you everything."

Lucifer reached down to the bulge in Sam's boxers, caressing the hardness he found there with an expert touch.

"I can offer you this body. I can offer you sex unlike anything you've ever felt in your life. Agree to be my lover, to be _mine_ , and you'll be whole for the first time since you were six months old. You never need to know suffering again, Sam, and with me, you never will."

"So," Lucifer's voice purred in his ear as a large, strong hand reached inside Sam's boxers to curl around his dick, "what do you say?

"Lucifer, I..." Sam paused, swallowing the sob of need rising in his throat as he realized exactly how close he'd just come to saying yes to _the Devil_ , "I... No. I can't. I won't."

Lucifer growled, claiming Sam's mouth with desperate ferocity as his grip on Sam's erection tightened, working him with brutal, perfect strokes that made the man cry out. 

When Sam was on the verge of orgasm, panting and groaning the Devil's name, the fallen archangel pulled away, lips curling into a smile to hide the pain of Sam's warmth withdrawing and draining away from him. 

He heard Lucifer's voice in his head, rumbling like thunder -- _You're going to wish you'd said yes, little one_ \-- before he awoke with a gasp. 

Sam's cock throbbed painfully with every heartbeat, heavier and thicker than he'd ever felt it. 

Sam heard a rustling sound and turned his head in the direction of the noise.  
On the pillow next to him was a single, perfect feather, colored the steely gray of the ocean in winter and shimmering with silver highlights.


	2. What I've Tasted of Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Morningstar drops in for another visit, and gives Sam a taste of grace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm letting Lucifer keep the upper hand in this chapter before things get interesting; rather than jump right into the dramatic crazy angsty action, I wanted to give them a little time to bond and explore things a little more from Sam's perspective.  
> (when I first wrote this, nearly a decade ago, the anticipation and excitement that was expressed about this series practically crushed me)  
> (my neuroses have neuroses)
> 
> \- author-fact: if you take the 21 letters of my first, middle, and last name and throw them together, archangel is one of the words they create

After that first night, Lucifer could feel the tug of Sam's mind constantly, a brilliant beacon calling to him. Lucifer distanced himself from the memory of touching that body, feeling that soul, and the relief it had brought him as best he could, biding his time. He had to wait until Sam wanted it; anticipation would be crucial to his victory.

The relentless torrent of thoughts about Lucifer in Sam's head were split. The majority of the time, they ran to the guilt that came so easily; guilt over kissing Lucifer, guilt over the way his body had reacted, guilt over the weakness it showed, and guilt about not telling Dean, who automatically knew when something was wrong with his baby brother, no matter how much distance lay between them. Sam would have given into his interrogation were it not for two important factors; the fact that Dean's tried-and-true Winchester third degree wasn't nearly what it used to be -- his brother was sliding into apathy fast, drained by the hopelessness of the impossible odds they faced -- and the fact that Sam knew he couldn't tell Dean about this under any circumstances. His brother hardly trusted him to begin with, and finding out that Sam had made out with the Devil -- to say nothing of the hand job -- would sever the few threads of faith Dean had left in Sam. 

When guilt wasn't drawing his mind to Lucifer, that task was accomplished by bursts of lust Sam fought fiercely to control. Lucifer's touch was imprinted in him like the fading image of a brilliant light behind his eyes; the memory was there, and now that he'd felt those hands, he wanted more. Sam was only human, and a flesh-carved, mortal body was not made to resist once the Morningstar got under its skin.

Sam stopped masturbating, finding himself unable to think of anything else when he felt the touch of hands on his arousal. Much to his dismay, the denial of release only served to amplify his desire to the point where it was driving him mad. When Sam started waking up in the middle of the night with damp smears of precome staining his boxers and Lucifer's name on his lips, the Devil decided to make an appearance. 

Sam knew it was only a matter of time before Lucifer showed up again.  
He was steeling himself, expecting something dark and violent, almost willing Lucifer to take him by force with the sheer power of his anticipation.  
Lucifer shook his head at the thought. For all his sins, he had never once taken a lover by force, and he never would; sooner or later, each one came to his bed willingly, begging body and soul for his touch.

When Sam's eyes fluttered open in his dream, he found himself lying on a bed with Lucifer leaning against the wall on the other side of the room. 

Lucifer said nothing, allowing his movements to speak for themselves as he pushed his body away from the wall and strode across the room, removing his shirt with a fluid grace surprising in such a large form. He could have easily made the garment disappear with a simple thought, but he didn't want to startle Sam or do anything to remind him that he was... himself. 

At the sight of Lucifer's naked torso, Sam gasped; a reverent intake of breath at the glory pouring into him through his eyes.  
His roaming gaze took in a long, thin scar transversing the left side of Lucifer's stomach, extending up along the curve that defined his chest. Sam caught himself wondering what its texture would feel like, how the skin would taste under his tongue, whether Lucifer would stay still or arch beneath him as he...  
Sam came to the sudden, horrifying realization that he was openly staring, practically eye-fucking the Devil. He turned away, heat rising to his cheeks as he hoped beyond hope that Lucifer hadn't noticed the way Sam was looking at him. 

Lucifer silently watched the path of Sam's eyes as they traveled over him, taking in the appreciative widening that soon turned to desire. His vessel had been beautiful by angelic standards as well as human -- not as beautiful as Sam, by any means, but still beautiful -- and his raw form had been an excellent starting point. Lucifer had kept the odd beauty of his vessel's face, but had chosen to make improvements elsewhere; lengthening spans of muscle to make them a less bulky, correcting symmetry where it was lacking, filling hollows that were too deep and flattening lines that were a little too round. When the body was sculpted to his satisfaction, Lucifer made a final improvement, accentuating the stunning V of muscle that ran along Nick's hipbones just enough to make it even more enticing. 

When combined with the way Lucifer carried himself, a mix of the quiet, overwhelming confidence of an archangel with the sinuous, mesmerizing shifts and sways of an exotic dancer, the effect was devastating. 

Moving like liquid silk, Lucifer reclined on the bed next to Sam, close enough to feel the edges of Sam's soul prickling over him like flakes of dancing flame, but far enough to keep Sam guessing at his next move. Sam's eyes were in constant motion, flickering towards him, then away, memorizing and drinking his body in with furtive glances. 

The corner of Lucifer's mouth curved into the slightest of smiles.  
"You don't have to hide from me, Sam," he said, the timbre of his voice taking on a honey-toned gentleness Sam had never heard before. 

Lucifer turned his body towards Sam, reaching out an arm to curl around Sam's waist.  
Sam felt a large hand splay over the small of his back before those fingers dug in, dragging him over the sheets until their bodies were flush together. Lucifer knew from brief brushes of arms against arms how soft the skin sheathing Sam's long, lovely body would be, but expectations weren't enough to prepare him for reality. It was intoxicating, it was perfection, it was _Sam_ , and he wanted **more**. 

Lucifer bent his head to the rise-falling place on Sam's neck where blood ran close to the surface, dragging his teeth over the sensitive skin and revelling in the burn of Sam's flesh against his mouth. At the feel of Sam's erection swelling against his thigh, the Devil fought back a groan, keeping the smooth, throaty rumble of his voice low and steady as he moved his lips against Sam's flesh.  
"You can have anything you want."

Lucifer left the invitation hanging on the air to worm its way into Sam's brain and weaken his resolve. 

He wasn't going to bother trying to get Sam to say yes again; it was simply too soon. Sam was still tense and hesitant, fully aware of what the Devil was up to, which was nothing less than what Lucifer had expected; after all, this magnificent soul wouldn't be for him if he broke so easily. It would take time, energy, and patience, and Lucifer knew that every second he devoted to winning Sam, every iota of power he gave, would be worth it a hundred times over. 

Lucifer nipped a line of faint red marks along Sam's throat, taking his time before finding those lovely lips with his own. There would be time enough for seduction later; for now, Lucifer was content to breathe in that blessed warmth, taking it into his vessel's lungs and feeling it radiate through him, sending sparks flowing along the contours of his invisible wings. 

As Sam's marvelous soul poured into him, Lucifer coaxed his grace from a deep, secret place within until it hummed just beneath his skin, returning the gift of that pure, beautiful heat by sharing the closest thing he had to a soul with Sam. When the grace flowed into him, it felt like every happy memory Sam had ever had all rolled into one, like safety and comfort and warm and home and fire and lust and _love_. It was in the breath from the mouth sealed gently over Sam's, the fingertips that trailed along his skin and scars with a touch so light he could barely feel it, the body that pressed against his own. Sam could feel the Morningstar everywhere, and every single scrap of that impossibly bright grace found its way to his dick, setting his nerves ablaze as it set his soul alight.

With the softest grind of Lucifer's hips and the touch of a tongue to his own, every muscle in Sam's body locked as he came so hard he nearly passed out. Lucifer buried his face in the shuddering man's neck, moaning in harmony with Sam as the intense burn of the man's orgasm tore through Lucifer, pouring energy into the furthest recesses of the archangel's being and banishing every hint of the icy gusts that chilled him.

Now that he'd had a taste of what Lucifer could do, Sam's need would only grow.  
and the Devil would be waiting.


	3. Knowing What I Do of Hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's sudden silence draws Lucifer to him, and when he finds the flame-hot soul he needs guttering out, the Devil shows some sympathy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why all this plot started showing up in my fics, but it makes me nervous. :)
> 
> \- T-minus one chapter til the shit hits the big, sexy, angry, NC-17-with-all-the-trimmings, angsty fan in part four. In the meantime, this is where it all falls down.  
> I'm building to something. Bear with me.
> 
> \- The scar/wound mentioned here isn't of my own creation. There are two potential sources - the first is the classic story of Michael throwing Lucifer out of Heaven, which I'm not entirely comfortable basing this on because I couldn't find any direct reference to Michael physically wounding Lucifer.  
> The second is found in the battle of Heaven in Paradise Lost, in which Abdiel cleaves Satan's body with a sword; he cannot die, but it is the first time the archangel has ever felt pain. Paradise Lost isn't canon, but since the book is cited as a reputable source of angel lore, I thought it couldn't hurt to use this story.  
> I never meant for the scar to have any significance at all when I first wrote it into chapter two, it just happened. 
> 
> \- for those unfamiliar with the Epic of Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh is a great king and hero who is 1/3 divine, 2/3 mortal, and completely out of control; the gods send him Enkidu, his friend/soulmate/companion/lover to temper, challenge, and complete him (The Epic of Gilgamesh, first tablet). 
> 
> \- the nephilim were an order/race of angels who bred with the daughters of men and were destroyed for it (a simplistic rendering of the story, but it'll do for now)

The next time Lucifer saw Sam Winchester, he wasn't drawn to the man by lust or need or want or the seeds he'd planted deep within Sam finally bursting forth.  
He was drawn by silence.

For three weeks now, Sam hadn't been able to get Lucifer out of his head. The Devil had grown accustomed to Sam involuntarily calling to him; the sounds and tugs were a near-constant companion, a quiet-loud background noise. In his day-to-day life, Lucifer didn't pay them much mind, but when they abruptly disappeared, the silence was overwhelming. 

His first thought was that Sam might be dead, and after nearly five hundred years without experiencing panic, the sensation practically knocked him to the floor. For the thousandth time, he cursed the angel who had carved those damn sigils into Sam's ribcage, keeping him from knowing exactly where his perfect vessel was. Lucifer tried locking on to the echoes of his grace that should still have clung to Sam; there wasn't much left, scraps of shreds of remnants, but there was enough, and Lucifer silently thanked a God he no longer believed in as he blinked into the familiar room in Sam's subconscious. 

At first, he thought he'd popped into the wrong head. Sam's soft glow, like sunlight against Lucifer's skin, was absent, and when Lucifer closed his eyes he couldn't see Sam's soul anywhere. 

A body lay on the bed, all too-long legs and arms haphazardly piled on top of one another. Were it not for the movement of its head in Lucifer's direction, accompanied by a small groan, Lucifer would have thought it was lifeless. Its lips -- _Sam's_ lips -- parted as it shifted, and something swirled around it, revealing a tiny sliver of near-blinding light.

This was Sam, all right, a listless, cold Sam with something obscuring and choking his soul.  
Lucifer needed to bring the fire in Sam's heart back and clear that foul, clinging darkness; without it, Lucifer had no hope, and without it, Sam had no hope, either. 

When he slipped into Sam's head, the despair he found there reminded him of Hell. Dean had left Sam - maybe for a while, maybe forever, Sam wasn't optimistic - and their angel was gone, too. Sam was all alone with nothing to keep him company but the self-loathing and misery that had been building in him for more than half a decade; his thoughts were an unbroken chain of hopelessness and pain and the loss of his brother on endless loop, _Dean_ and _come back_ and _sorry_ and **_hurt_**. 

_How could my father let this poor creature suffer so?_  
A soul as glorious as Sam's was meant to be treasured, not battered.  
Even the distant archangels were invested in the safety and well-being of their vessels, giving them protection and an angelic semblance of nurturing. By his own admittance, Lucifer hated his father, but there were lows Lucifer thought even He wouldn't stoop to. The humans were precious enough to God to compel him to sacrifice his most beloved archangel, so Lucifer had expected him to treat them as such, to take care of them and confer some sort of compassion and justice. It was beyond Lucifer how God could be so disinterested in his own creations, especially one as bright and beautiful as Sam. 

Sam, with a soul like moonlight shining through leaves and deep, smooth water.  
Sam craved love and comfort, needed them like Lucifer needed his warmth. He was starving for affection, for someone to tell him that he wasn't worthless and the worst screw-up that had ever walked the earth, to tell him that things were going to be okay, to tell him that even if things weren't okay they would still be there because they _loved_ him.  
The ones who had gone dark before Sam had gone willingly, and they deserved all they got. This, though, this was different. This poor man had withstood more than most angels could have before he gave in, and he had honestly believed that he was stopping the Apocalypse, but he was being punished anyways, a fact that made bitter, sick anger build in Lucifer's chest.

Sam could sense the Devil's rage, and Lucifer saw fear join the host of negative emotions swirling around in Sam's skull. Lucifer closed his eyes, quieting his fury; there wasn't enough violence and vengeance in the world to dispel the pain unravelling Sam's soul, and he needed his vessel strong.

"I will never hurt you, Sam," Lucifer said as he lay down on the bed next to Sam and gathered the man's body into his arms, "never."

Instead of Lucifer taking advantage of his weakened state -- grace blazing through him, hands and lips and teeth playing the lust Sam didn't have the energy to deny -- all Sam felt was the solid, reassuring pressure of Lucifer's chest, stomach, legs against his, the stretch-curl of Lucifer's arm beneath his head and a hand that lightly brushed along his spine. 

_This is a goddamn trick_ , Sam told himself, _this is **Lucifer**_ , but no matter how many times he repeated the words in his head, it didn't seem to matter. Sam needed... he didn't know what he needed right then, but he wasn't getting comfort anywhere else.  
_Everyone's deserted me but the Devil_ , Sam thought bitterly to himself before he felt cool skin on his forehead, easing the tension that furrowed his brow.

_Fuck it,_ , Sam thought as his resistance fell away, _after everything that's happened, I don't see how cuddling is going to make much of a difference._

Lucifer thought their shirts away, knowing how soothing the touch of bare skin on skin was to humans; a little murr of contentment escaped Sam's lips as he relaxed, nuzzling into the silk-soft contours of Lucifer's chest. As Sam lay against him, Lucifer could feel the haze dimming his soul begin to lift and his warmth return; the maelstrom in his head slowing and calming.

Lucifer felt fingertips against his skin and looked down to see Sam gazing intently at the scar that marred his upper body, running his fingers over the raised line; stark white against the soft gold of Lucifer's skin.

There was a raw, gentle need in the way Sam touched him, a tenderness he hadn't felt since his brothers' wings brushed against his own so many thousands of years before. He hadn't been touched in a way that wasn't born of torture or manipulation since the moment he fell; Lucifer had taken lovers, but he was always the one stroking, caressing, and pleasuring. 

"That scar didn't belong to this vessel, you know."

At the sound of Lucifer's voice, Sam's fingers froze just below the place where the thin, raised flesh crossed over Lucifer's heart.

"It's mine, burned into my grace; every vessel I take is marked with it when I enter them for the first time, and their souls carry it for eternity."

"Where did it come from," Sam asked, looking up at Lucifer's too-neutral face.

"Before the battle of Heaven, one of the angels who was meant to side with us betrayed me, alerting God to our attack. When the two sides met on the field, that same little angel -- Abdiel -- was the only one who had the courage to stand forward and set the clash in motion. My brother, my own little brother, raised his sword against me and split me from my shoulder to my belly."

Lucifer was silent for a long, long moment. 

"It was the first time I ever felt pain, and no wound has blemished my grace since."

Sam pressed a soft kiss to the tip of the scar, right above Lucifer's nipple, before his eyelashes fluttered shut like little whispers against Lucifer's skin.  
With strokes of a thumb against a cheek and the steady cadence of his vessel's heartbeat, Lucifer lulled Sam back to sleep. The stain obscuring Sam's soul when Lucifer had arrived was gone; Sam's essence had returned to its usual soft ebb and flow, edges lapping against and gently twining with the outer fringe of Lucifer's grace. When Sam had slipped into the peaceful limbo of a deep, dreamless sleep, Lucifer untangled long limbs from his own and withdrew; Lucifer's body lamenting the loss of the touch as soon as skin slid away from skin and the first chilly tingles made their way into the fractures at the juncture of grace and vessel. The more time he spent with Sam, the less he seemed to notice the cold, and the weaker its its effect on him became.

Lucifer looked at the sleeping figure, lips curling into a smile. He could give Sam much more than a simple "thank you" and a snuggle in return for allowing Lucifer close to him.  
He closed his eyes, concentrating on the flow of his grace, breaking off a tiny bead to give to Sam's soul to help shield it from despair and keep it safe. When the ball of light had collected in his hand, a sharp flash of shock razed through him.

The piece of grace should have looked like a perfect, white pearl; instead, the sphere floating above his palm was the deep, rich yellow of candle-light.  
Lucifer knew this color well, from the brief time he had spent free of the cage after he fell; he'd seen it playing over the souls of Adam and Eve, watched it spark between Gilgamesh and Enkidu, and had caught infinitesimal glimpses of it when Gabriel looked at him that, try as he might, the arch-herald couldn't conceal. 

It was the beginnings of love.

Humans weren't made to be loved, not by archangels or any other creatures in Heaven, as the nephilim had learned the hard way.  
An angel could have feelings for a vessel, but they were limited to protectiveness and gratitude; Lucifer couldn't _care_ for his vessel, he needed to _own_ him.

But his forsaken-Father help him, Lucifer was falling in love with Sam Winchester.


End file.
